


Headfirst for Halos

by worrisomeme



Series: I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depressed Steve, Depressed Steve Rogers, M/M, Punk Steve Rogers, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 03:17:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7918411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worrisomeme/pseuds/worrisomeme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Steven Grant Rogers is so, so tired. Not the ‘I stayed up late partying when I knew I had to work at 10 and now I’m paying for it’ kind of tired like most people his age. He’s tired all the way down to his bones, to his core. His soul is that kind of tired that no amount of sleep can fix, if he could even ever manage to get any, that is.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He thinks about his life and how he got to this point as he lets himself dangle off the side of the Brooklyn Bridge. He’s climbed the railing and is only holding loosely to the steel cables as he leans his torso out over the water. Staring into it, he feels a rush of adrenaline. Joy, even. He feels light as a feather knowing all he has to do is let go and it will all be over.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Headfirst for Halos

Steven Grant Rogers is so, so tired. Not the ‘I stayed up late partying when I knew I had to work at 10 and now I’m paying for it’ kind of tired like most people his age. He’s tired all the way down to his bones, to his core. His soul is that kind of tired that no amount of sleep can fix, if he could even ever manage to get any, that is.

He thinks about his life and how he got to this point as he lets himself dangle off the side of the Brooklyn Bridge. He’s climbed the railing and is only holding loosely to the steel cables as he leans his torso out over the water. Staring into it, he feels a rush of adrenaline. Joy, even. He feels light as a feather knowing all he has to do is let go and it will all be over.

Usually when people commit suicide, their loved ones say some shit like ‘I never saw it coming’ or ‘he was so happy all the time. He was always laughing. I just don’t get it’. Steve hopes his friends won’t say dumb shit like that about him when he’s gone. If they do, he knows, it’ll all be lies. They all knew this day was coming. He’s been sick for a long time.

These are no new thoughts to him, he’s had them a million times before. But this time it feels different. He feels giddy, feels free. _Let go_ , a voice whispers in the back of his mind, like it has a million times before. But this time it seems so simple, so easy. Why had he hesitated all those other times? Why prolong his suffering?

He vaguely recognizes the way his heart is racing, hurting in his chest, the wheezing onset of an asthma attack, the migraine throbbing at his temples, behind his eyes. It will all be over soon, anyway. No more suffering, no more pain. He closes his eyes and hesitates only a second before finally letting go.

So, of course, he’s extremely disappointed when two strong hands manage to clamp onto his and tug him back against the harsh, unforgiving metal of that damned bridge. Steve feels the tears finally start to sting in his eyes as he squeezes them shut tighter, trying to will the stranger to let him go. He’s vaguely aware the guy is trying to talk to him and he’s disappointed again when those hands wrap around his chest and tug him back onto the safety of the sidewalk.

It’s only logical, Steve guess, he reasons with himself, at that point it kind of would have been viewed as murder if the guy had let him go again. Right? He tries, unsuccessfully, to be less disappointed with having his life saved.

“Uh, hello? Can you hear me?”

Oh yeah, the guy has been trying to talk to him. He blinks up at the stranger now standing in front of him and shakes his head just slightly. “Yeah, I can hear you. Guess I was just…” he trails off with a vague hand gesture and a shrug. After all that rush, now he just feels numb.

He must have zoned out again because the guy is halfway through his sentence when he realizes he’s talking again. “- somewhere you can go kid? Someone I can call? I don’t think you should be alone right now.” The stranger’s eyebrows are furrowed in concern and Steve notices he’s gripping him by the shoulders. It makes sense, he guesses, because he kind of feels wobbly, like he just might fall over if he lets go.

He feels weird, numb. His friends would probably say he’s acting like a zombie. Undead Steve has made an appearance. He can’t really bring himself to say anything, so, instead, he fishes his phone out of his pocket and brings up Peggy’s contact information, then shoves the phone into the stranger’s hand. The guy kinda gives him a look of disbelief, but only hesitates a moment before nudging Steve onto his ass on the cement.

He wobbles a bit more before finally just flopping onto his side. This is much easier. Sitting up is just so hard. _Maybe he’s a guardian angel or something,_ Steve thinks to himself. He sure is pretty enough to be one.

“Is this… uh… Peggy?” the guy’s asking, pacing in front of where Steve’s seated, keeping an eye on him as he does. Peg’s probably pissed. She was definitely sleeping. “Hey! Whoa! Calm down, calm down. My name is Bucky- it’s a nickname okay, chill out English- Anyway! Listen, there’s this skinny little blonde punk here. I just pulled him off the edge of the Brooklyn Bridge. He kinda isn’t really talking, but he pulled up your number and gave me his phone when I asked if there was anyone I could call for him, so…”

_It’s kind of like being drunk,_ Steve’s thoughts drift off again. Yeah, definitely like being drunk. Numb and floating and sleepy. Oh god, he’s so fucking sleepy. Maybe this Bucky guy won’t mind if he just takes a little nap. He can send Peggy after him if he wants. He’s not sure what this guy could possibly be doing out here at this hour, but it must be something important, right?

“Yeah, yeah, no problem. Just, I guess, uh… here, here’s my number,” Bucky pulls out his own phone and gets Peggy’s number from Steve’s phone, then he types out a quick text, “Just send me his address. I’ll get him home… No, it’s no problem, don’t worry about it. I know what it’s like… I don’t really think he should be alone right now. I’ll just stay with him…”

The guy stops pacing and glances at him a little warily. “Nawh Peg, it’s fine. Look, if he didn’t have anyone I was gonna stay with him anyway. Take as long as you need… ‘Course. You don’t have to come out right away, I can stay with him until morning if you wanna go back to bed for now.”

As Steve stops listening again he’s vaguely aware of how odd it is that some stranger, who just happens to be out wandering around at ungodly hours of the morning no less, cares so much about his well-being. He’s also vaguely aware that if this was a Lifetime movie or something he would totally be about to be raped and/or murdered. But this is real life and he is just way too gone to worry about it right now. He obviously said something to Peggy to get her to trust him, so that’s good enough for him.

After what feels like ages the guy – Bucky – hangs up and tucks Steve’s phone back in his pocket. He holds his hands out and Steve takes them, letting himself be pulled up and supported as they wander aimlessly through the New York streets.

_He must know his way around Brooklyn really well_ , Steve thinks to himself, amused, as they get back to his place in record time. He’s slowly but surely coming back to himself now so when they step off the elevator he at least manages to fish out his keys and get his front door open. This guy is definitely a guardian angel. Or maybe Peggy’s going to find his naked corpse when she gets there in the morning. But probably the first one.

Steve’s already in his pajamas so Bucky settles him on the couch. He disappears and comes back with a blanket and pillow from his bed and tucks him in. He watches as the guy locks the front door again before settling in on his armchair and pulling out his phone. Steve only watches him for a minute before the exhaustion overcomes him and he’s out like a light.

 

*

 

Steve is registering voices in his kitchen before he actually has the energy to open his eyes. He gives up on the idea after a moment and just listens instead.

“Thank you again for taking care of him, really. I means so much to me,” Peggy’s saying. He feels a pang of guilt for worrying her so bad as the events of last night come flooding back to him.

“It was really nothing,” a vaguely familiar voice responds. Bucky, he reminds himself. The handsome guardian angel who ruined his suicide.

“It was to me,” Peggy says softly. “Anyway, I’m going to call in to work, so I’ll be here when he gets up.” Another pang of guilt. “I’m sure you have somewhere to be, so this is me officially setting you free.” She forces a laugh, but Steve can hear the tension behind it.

“If you need to go to work, I can stick around. I’m off today, so I can stay with him.”

Steve knows Peggy well enough that he can picture her face, biting her lip and looking indecisive. He knows she would feel horrible about canceling her appointments, but she won’t want to impose on this poor guy anymore. But he did offer, and she really, really can’t cancel all those appointments. Everyone would understand, but the guilt would eat at her all day. Steve knows she’s going to say yes before she even does.

Steve pretends to be sleeping as she agrees reluctantly and thanks him again, then leaves. It’s not that he doesn’t want to see her, reassure her that he’s…. well, not alright by any means, he guesses, but at the very least not an immediate threat to himself again. If he’s honest with himself he’s just too ashamed to face her just yet.

It’s only when Peggy calls out a goodbye to Bucky and he hears the door click back into place that he dares open his eyes. He’s greeted by Bucky grinning at him, his arms crossed over his chest.

“I knew you were faking it,” he says, his smile softening as he walks over to settle on the coffee table across from him.  Man this guy is even more gorgeous than Steve had remembered. “How long have you been up?”

“Just a couple minutes,” Steve’s voice is rough as he pushes himself up to sit cross-legged on the couch.

Bucky holds his hand out and smiles. It’s warm and charming and feels like a breath of fresh air. “I’m Bucky. We didn’t really get properly introduced last night, you were kind of out of it.”

Steve blushes and nods a little, shaking his hand. “’M Steve. Thanks, I guess, for… ya know…” He runs a tattooed hand over the shaved side of his head and looks away. “You don’t have to hang around, you know. I might look like it, but I’m not a kid. I don’t need a babysitter.”

He won’t look at the guy. He knows he’s being bitchy when he’s been nothing but sweet and caring since the moment he grabbed him on that bridge last night. This guy who’s smile is like pure sunshine even now as he’s giving Steve that curious look like he just can’t figure him out.

“How about a friend?” he says. “It definitely seems like you could use one of those nearby today.”

“I had one, but you told her to leave,” Steve grumbles stubbornly. He doesn’t really mean it and his tone must betray his words because Bucky’s still grinning at him like that. “You’re just a stranger who ruined my death.”

Bucky huffs out a little laugh and shakes his head. “I guess you’re not technically wrong,” he says. “But she had work today and I work from home, so it is significantly less of a big deal for me to stay here all day.”

“Why’d you tell her you had the day off?”

“She had to go, wasn’t worth explaining. And technically any day I want off I have off, so it’s not technically wrong.”

That’s when Steve finally looks at him, really looks at him. He notices the bags under his eyes and the stubble on his face, the disheveled hair falling from the messy bun and the wrinkled clothes. Bucky’s smile has fallen now under the scrutiny and he knows he’s staring but he doesn’t really care. Finally, he narrows his eyes at him suspiciously.

“What were you doing on the bridge last night?”

Bucky fidgets a little and looks around the room, trying to find something else to rest his eyes on. “I, uh, I don’t sleep much,” he says, getting up and heading toward the kitchen. “I made some coffee. You hungry? I’m a pretty decent cook.”

“O-ho-ho no that will not work with me,” Steve laughs dryly as he follows him into the kitchen. He hops up to sit on the counter next to the coffee maker as Bucky gets himself a cup. “So you don’t sleep much, huh?”

“You have a nice laugh,” Bucky tells him with a twinkle in his eye, then sips his coffee to avoid answering.

Steve twists around to grab a mug and fixes himself a cup too, but he’s giving Bucky a look that says he is absolutely not going to drop this.

“Yeah,” he says finally, almost sighing, “I don’t sleep much. PTSD,” is all the explanation he gives, pushing his bangs out of his face. They just fall right back to where they were and he huffs a laugh, rolling his eyes at the futility of trying to do something with his hair.

Steve’s eyes soften and he rests his mug in his lap. He frowns and chews on his lip. _Shit,_ he thinks, _and I was being an ass. Shit._

“I… I’m sorry,” is what he says, staring a little too intently into his cup.

Bucky places a hand on his knee and squeezes gently. “Don’t worry about it man. Hey,” Steve looks up at that, “how about to apologize you let me keep you company today?”

He searches those storm clouds Bucky calls eyes and nods a little. “Yeah, that would be… nice.” He’s letting his guard down just a little, showing a little of the real Steve Rogers. “You like American Pickers?”

They exchange a little small talk, but spend most of the day in a comfortable silence just watching TV. Steve is really starting to like this guy. Things aren’t complicated with him. And he’s, apparently, a saint.

When Peggy comes over after work Bucky has dinner ready for her. She can’t stop thanking him. “For last night, for today, for dinner, seriously you’re a gift from whatever higher power does or doesn’t exist,” are her exact words.

Bucky cleans up after and then scribbles his number down. “If you ever need to talk, or you just want to hang out or whatever, give me a call,” he tells him and pulls him into a tight hug that leaves Steve dazed and warm and fuzzy inside. He’s only gone for a couple of minutes before Steve starts missing his presence.

 

*

 

[ **Bucky:** Hey punk, how you holding up?]

That’s the text he gets the next morning, early as sin. The sun is barely peeking in his windows but he’s already been up for an hour.

How is he holding up? When Steve thinks about how he’s doing the only response he can come up with is a shrug. He’s barely slept again, but he’s at least trying to get back to work. Kinda.

[ **Steve:**???????????]

[ **Bucky:** Need to talk about it?]

[ **Steve:** nah, it’s whatever]

[ **Bucky:** Okay, well if you change your mind or need some company let me know]

Steve thinks long and hard about it. He’s felt off-kilter and skittish since Bucky left last night. Lonely, even. Would he be horrible or weird for asking him to come over? Would that be needy? That would be weird, right? Being needy with a stranger.

Right?

But he did offer.

Okay, what if the roles were flipped? He wouldn’t offer unless he meant it. Maybe he’s even missing him too. Whoa, wait, what? Missing him? That’s definitely twice he’s thought that and that is definitely needy. He looks down to where he’s started sketching Bucky’s eyes on a spare piece of paper on his desk. Okay, yeah, he’d call ‘missing’ appropriate. Creepy might be a good word too.

[ **Steve:** I mean, if you’re bored or whatever. I wouldn’t mind.]

That’s as close as he’s going to get, but Bucky is apparently already way too good at reading him because he sends back:

[ **Bucky:** We can just hang out and both sit around in our pjs. Low key. Sound good?]

[ **Steve:** I’ll put the coffee on.]

When Bucky gets there fifteen minutes later Steve is grateful to find he really is in his pajamas - loose pants that have stars all over them (he later finds out that Bucky is huge nerd for space stuff and sci-fi) and a plain black v-neck that _just_ shows off his collar bones. Is this guy more beautiful every time he sees him or is his memory going? And god, that hair. It’s almost halfway down his back and looks so silky Steve just wants to spend the entire day running his fingers through it. Maybe braiding it.

Shit.

Get it together Rogers.

“We’re gonna hang out in my studio, if you don’t mind,” Steve says. “I should at least try to get some work done.” When Bucky shakes his head he motions toward the hallway. “Come on then, you can set your shit down and then we’ll get coffee.”

Steve leads him back to the spare bedroom he’d converted to a studio immediately upon moving in. Peggy had insisted on the love seat nestled in the corner. On days like today Steve is grateful for it. That’s where Bucky tosses his backpack and they each go get coffee before settling in with their respective work.

“So what is it you do?” Steve asks after a while, not lifting his eyes from the commission he’s working on. He figures it’s pretty obvious what he does, what with all the paintings and sketchbooks and various art supplies scattered around the room. Not to mention the paint splattered and dripped and smeared everywhere.

Bucky, on the other hand, glances up, his fingers stilling on his laptop keyboard. “I’m a translator,” he says. “Books and stuff.”

Steve swivels his chair around to look at him now. “A translator?” He blinks. “What language?”

“Today it’s Russian,” Bucky laughs, “But I’ve almost lost track of how many I know. Like 15 or something like that. I dunno.” He shrugs it off, but Steve’s complete amazement must be showing on his face because he’s blushing just a little bit.

Steve catches himself thinking how cute he is when he blushes and thinks, _Shit_.

“Holy shit that many?! What the fuck?” Steve manages to get out once the shock starts wearing off. “Parlez-vous français?” he asks. _Do you speak French?_

Bucky’s eyes light up. “ _Yeah!”_ he responds, his accent barely noticeable, nodding excitedly. “ _I mean, it’s not my best, but I can get by_.” He tries to act nonchalant now, but Steve’s not buying it. This guy is secretly a huge fucking nerd and he loves it.

“How did you learn so many?” Steve asks, wonder still in his voice but he turns around and gets back to work.

He hears Bucky’s keys clacking and knows he’s back at it too. “I had to learn a couple of them when I was serving.” He’s trying to hide the tension in his voice, but Steve hears it. “I picked them up like it was nothing, and I really liked it. So when I…” he hesitates, his voice cracks just a little, “got back, I got a degree in linguistics and they just kinda kept piling up.”

He decides not to push it (which is unlike him, but he thinks he owes it to the guy). Instead they work quietly, his music playing softly for background noise. Well, quietly might not be the right word. The volume is low but it’s a nice mix of screamo and punk and he’s pleasantly surprised to find Bucky singing along under his breath from time to time. Steve is _really_ starting to think at least one god might exist and that it sent this guy straight to him.

 

*

 

They spend weeks in this routine - Bucky coming over early and staying late. Bucky makes them breakfast and they spend the first half of the day alone together, just enjoying having the other’s presence in the room and occasionally chatting when they need a quick break.

Once they’re both done Steve makes lunch and they spend the rest of the day doing some combination of watching TV or movies or playing video games. Sometimes they just read or Bucky will write while Steve doodles. Bucky always makes dinner.

They spend their nights talking. Neither has delved too deep or dark yet, but they’re getting to know every other little detail about each other. Steve now knows how Bucky liked his coffee and tea and that he prefers Pepsi over Coke. Bucky knows what Steve does and doesn’t like on his pizza and what his favorite foods and sweets are. Among a million other things.

Two nights ago they had fallen asleep on the couch together and woke up with Steve curled up in Bucky’s lap. It felt so natural neither of them really thought anything of it. They just got up and went about their morning routine like it was perfectly normal.

One morning Bucky doesn’t show up at his usual time. Steve knows he’s way more anxious than he should be over it. But they’d grown so close so fast, and for it to just stop with no warning like this. _What if I drove him off?_ he thinks. Shit.

[ **Steve:** Hey, you’re usually here by now so I just want to make sure you’re okay.]

[ **Steve:** I mean, I know you don’t have to be or anything. Don’t feel like you gotta come over if you’re busy. I know we didn’t talk about it.]

[ **Steve:** You probably just are actually sleeping lol I’ll leave you alone. Shoot me a text when you’re up so I know you’re okay though.]

Steve tries unsuccessfully to get some work done. His mind keeps wandering to the worst. He knows Bucky doesn’t owe him anything, but he had been coming over every morning. After about a week and a half he had just started showing up, they didn’t even need to text first. Steve had started just leaving his door unlocked (which Bucky nagged him for, despite Steve’s protests that “locks only keep out honest people anyway”.)

It’s almost noon before Steve gets a single text back.

[ **Bucky:** I’m okay, thanks for worrying hun. Not gonna be able to make it today. Should be by tomorrow though.]

Steve is not sure who sent that text but he knows it was not Bucky. Bucky would never call him ‘hun’. Usually he calls him ‘Stevie’ or ‘punk’ affectionately. He’s maybe gotten a few pet names in French and things he assumes are pet names in other various languages. But just straight up ‘hun’? No way. He tries to squash the jealousy that bubbles up in his throat.

For the first time in weeks he gets dressed, grabs his personal sketchbook, and heads down to Peggy’s tattoo shop. If she’s busy, chatting will be nice, or even talking to her girlfriend and the shop’s piercer, Angie. If she’s not busy some fresh ink will help clear his head. Maybe even another hole in his head. Tattoos and piercings have always been like therapy for him.

When he gets to the shop Peggy’s working on another one of her regulars, Johnnie. Darcy and Peter, two of the other artists there, are working too. He hops up on the half-wall separating the stations, right next to Ange.

“You wanna make some cash?” he teases her as he bumps their shoulders together, but his heart’s not totally in it. He can hear how tired he sounds.

“Where’s your new boyfriend?” Peggy teases.

“Oh, new boyfriend, huh?” Johnnie shoots him a curious look, her eyes twinkling at the prospect of some juicy gossip.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Steve rolls his eyes. He can’t keep the pout from his voice as he mumbles, “And I dunno where he is.” He turns to Angie. “So whatta ya say?”

“You’re just using me ‘cause Peg’s busy,” she teases him with a wink, but hops down from the wall. He really doesn’t know how she does it without breaking an ankle in those heels. There’s a reason he calls them his rockabilly goddesses.

“He’s gonna run outta skin at this rate,” Peter calls over from his station. “You’re doing him a favor.”

“No one asked you, Quill,” Steve’s laughing and he flips him the bird fondly as he follows Angie out front to pick out jewelry.

“What were you thinking?” she asks him.

“I dunno,” he shrugs and looks around before spotting a plain gold ring, a septum clicker. “Oh! How about that? You think it’d look good?”

“I don’t think you could look bad if you tried,” she says with a smile as she unlocks the case and grabs the ring. “It’ll be perfect. You could even grab these gold tunnels to match. We’ve got ‘em in your siii-iiize” she sing-songs the last bit, wiggling her eyebrows.

Steve laughs and nods, “Alright, add ‘em in.” He pays her and tips her generously, then they head back to her station.

“Whatcha decide on?” Darcy asks as they settle in. She’s just finished up with her client and she’s leaning against the half-wall.

“Clean up your shit, you’ll see when it’s done,” Steve teases.

She barks out a laugh and rolls her eyes fondly. "Fine, fine, whatever,” she says and slips away to do just that.

When they’re done and the jewelry is in place everyone oo’s and ahh’s and tells him how good it looks as he climbs back up to sit by Peggy and Johnnie.

“That’s a real nice piece Peg,” he says, ignoring the blush gracing his cheeks from everyone’s compliments.

“Thanks,” she lights up. “I’ve got the whole day set aside for this beauty.”

“I bet. It’s gonna look amazing.”

“I’ve never walked outta this chair unhappy,” Johnnie pipes in, proud grin on her face.

“Me either,” Steve laughs.

He glances down at where flashes of ink-covered skin peek out from his clothes and takes a minute to remember all the hours he’s spent in that chair. He can’t help but let his mind wonder if Bucky has any tattoos he’s been hiding. Army guys usually have tattoos, right? And he is kind of secretly an emo kid at heart. Steve bets he plays guitar or something. Maybe bass. That would fit him better. He sure sings like an angel.

“Earth to Steven,” Angie’s saying as she takes her seat next to him again.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” he laughs.

“We missed ya down here spaceman. Where’d you go?”

“Oh I know where he went,” Peggy says, glancing up from her work only briefly. “Did something happen with James?”

Steve flushes again and again he tries to ignore it. He shrugs. “I dunno. He’s been over every morning since that night we met-“ that’s what he’s been calling it, that or ‘the night of the incident’ “- and then today he just didn’t show up. I texted him and asked him if he was okay and when I finally got an answer it wasn’t even him. It was someone on his phone pretending to be him.”

“How do you know that?” Angie asks, rubbing a hand over his back supportively.

“He called me hun.”

Angie and Peggy both look at him, their faces scrunched up.

“Yeah, no, that was definitely not him,” Peggy says.

“See?! Even you know it.” He throws his arms up in frustration.

“Well, what else did the person say? Was it rude or something?” Johnnie asks.

Steve pulls out his phone so he can read the message exactly. “I’m okay, thanks for worrying hun. Not gonna be able to make it today. Should be by tomorrow though.” He sighs and stuffs the phone back in his pocket. “That was it.”

“Maybe he has some family thing going on or something. It sounds like he at least kind of told whoever it was what to text you, so it’s not like he was trying to blow you off.”

Steve just sighs again and pouts, letting Angie pull him to her side.

“See what happens tomorrow,” she says, ever the voice of reason. “You know he’s safe so you don’t have to spend the day worrying about that at least. Bargain with yourself. You’ll stop worrying today and then based on what happens tomorrow let yourself lose your damn mind over if then if you want. But give yourself today.”

Steve nods a little. “I do have some shopping to do, and laundry.”

“I can come with you,” she offers. “Demand for me has not been high today and Peg can just tell anyone to come back tomorrow. We haven’t hung out in ages anyway.”

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” Steve smiles at her.

She packs up her things and they say their goodbyes, then they spend the rest of the day catching up and doing errands. When Peggy gets off work she comes over and they order pizza and Steve almost, _almost_ forgets the jealousy and concern in the pit of his stomach.

 

*

 

Steve’s in his studio already trying to work the next morning when he hears Bucky let himself in. He appears in the doorway a minute later with a bag from Steve’s favorite local bakery in hand. It’s run by these twins who speak broken English through their thick Russian accents. The Maximoffs. They’re totally cool and they make the best baked goods in the city. Hands down.

“I brought croissants and donuts. Chocolate glaze, just the way you like them,” he says, a weak smile on his face. “Hey, that’s new.” He points to his own nose for emphasis. “I like it, it looks good.” He looks wrecked, like he hasn’t slept days.

Steve jumps up at the sight of him and ushers him to the loveseat, taking the bag and setting it on his desk for now. “You’re too good to me,” he says, sitting down next to him and trying not to blush. “You okay? You look horrible. You wanna talk about it?”

Bucky snorts and shakes his head. “Thanks man. Nah, don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Just…” he trails off, like he was going to say something but changed his mind, and sighs.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Steve’s tone is firm but soft and he laces his fingers with Bucky’s. “I know we haven’t known each other very long and I probably seem kinda fragile based on the way we met but you can totally tell me anything. I mean it. I l- “ he cuts off abruptly.

Is it weird if he tells him he loves him? He’s got a crush maybe, yeah, but it’s a little early to call anything love. I mean, he tells all his friends he loves him, but Bucky doesn’t necessarily know that. He probably knows him well enough to assume, and, yeah, he’s heard him say it to Peggy over the phone quite a bit. But he’d rather play it safe.

“I worry about you too, you know?” he finishes instead, and this time he does blush.

Bucky nods, takes a long moment in his own head, then sighs again and leans against Steve’s side. “I just had a really bad episode the night before last. My friend Nat ended up coming over and…” he trails off, shaking his head as if to clear it. “I had her answer when she noticed you had texted me worried.”

“I knew you would never call me hun,” Steve mumbles and Bucky actually busts out laughing.

“Did she really? She should have known better,” he says, looking just a little less exhausted.

“Hey, how’s about we give ourselves the day off today? We deserve it.”

Bucky doesn’t even hesitate before nodding.

Steve keeps their fingers linked as they get up and he tugs him toward the bedroom. “I’ll get you coffee and grab the food and we’ll just watch TV in bed and relax all day. Maybe we’ll even take a nap.” Steve waggles his eyebrows and Bucky laughs tiredly.

“Okay, okay, you convinced me,” he says.

“Good,” Steve says, finally letting go as Bucky crawls into bed. He balances his own cup of coffee along with the bag of baked goods and a cup he makes for Bucky, making sure not to spill a drop. Bucky’s got the TV on set to the Discovery Channel when he comes back in the room. Some space documentary is on. Typical Bucky.

Steve sets Bucky’s mug down on the bedside table next to him before setting his own on his side and plopping the bag of food between them as he settles in under the covers. Bucky scoots closer and leans his head on Steve’s shoulder, grabbing a croissant out of the bag.

“You know, you can tell me all about it,” Steve says quietly as he picks out a donut. “You won’t get any judgement from me.”

Bucky lets out a little hum of acknowledgment and Steve drops it. When he’s ready, he’ll talk about it. Maybe he should share something. Maybe it would be easier if he knew Steve had something to risk in all this too. Would that be selfish? Would he think he was trying to make it all about him? He’s just trying to relate, to show Bucky he’s not alone. But what if he takes it the wrong way?

Would that just be him trying to manipulate Bucky into talking about it? Or would he think he’s being nosey? Fuck, why does communicating with another human being have to be so hard? Was it this hard with Peggy at first?

Probably.

Bucky’s looking at him as he shakes himself out of his own head. “Are _you_ okay?” he asks.

Steve decides in that moment to take the plunge.

“Yeah,” he replies, setting the bag of baked goods on the nightstand. “It’s the crippling depression and anxiety, you know? Sometimes talking to people is really hard… and then I start to overthink everything and panic and… I just get lost in my own head. If I’m spacing out that’s probably what’s going on,” he chuckles.

One time someone told him it was weird how he could be talking about something so serious and just crack jokes or laugh about it, but it’s just how he copes with his many illnesses, mental and otherwise. But Bucky just looks at him like he gets it. He pulls him into his lap and squeezes him like he’s a teddy bear. Steve lets out a surprised laugh but snuggles into him and after a moment Bucky starts talking.

“I was special ops,” he says quietly into Steve’s hair. “We were an elite team, the best snipers in the army. I’ve killed more people than I can ever atone for.” He lets out a shaky breath. “That’s why I don’t sleep much.”

“Nightmares?” Steve asks, and when Bucky just nods he adds, “Me too.” He can tell there’s more to the story, more that Bucky wants to tell him, but not now, not yet. “The doctors say it’s an anxiety thing.”

After that they slip back into silence, but Bucky still doesn’t let him go. Steve thinks maybe they both need it right now. It doesn’t take long at all before they fall asleep like that, Steve curled against Bucky’s chest and the TV still on.

 

*

 

Steve spends two days at Peggy’s shop working on a commission. There’s a lot of his art hung up around the studio mixed in with everyone else’s so every once in a while someone will request a piece designed by him. He doesn’t see Bucky either day (though they do text almost non-stop) so he’s glad when he finishes it just before they close on the second night. He makes a spontaneous decision and rushes off to get some things ready.

Steve’s in the kitchen fixing his first cup of coffee for the day when he hears the door open and shoes being kicked off the next morning. When Bucky makes his way into the kitchen the first thing he does his pick Steve up in a huge hug, muttering in Russian. Like, his feet actually lift off the floor and he giggles and grips Bucky tight around the neck.

“I missed you,” he says, wrapping his legs around Bucky’s waist and resting his head on his shoulder. He was up late getting everything ready and he thinks maybe he could just take a little nap. Right here.

“Missed you too,” Bucky replies. He gives him one last squeeze and sets him down on the counter, pulling away to get coffee and start breakfast.

After they eat Steve practically bounces out of his chair, remembering what he has planned.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” he says, grabbing both of Bucky’s hands and tugging him up too.

Bucky’s laughing as he follows him down the hallway. He stops abruptly, though, when he steps inside Steve’s studio. He’s rearranged it so that Bucky has his own desk near Steve’s with a bunch of notebooks and his favorite pens in every color Steve could find.

“You did all this for me?” he asks quietly, squeezing Steve’s hands.

Steve absolutely cannot even help the giggle that escapes his mouth. “There’s more!” he says, tugging Bucky over to the desk. “Look in the top drawer!”

Bucky gives him a confused, suspicious look, then slowly opens the drawer.  He pulls out the lone key placed inside and turns to him. “Is this what I think it is?” he asks, his face unreadable.

Steve tries to fight the blush creeping up his face but he knows it’s not working as he smiles hopefully. Bucky’s expression is making him a little nervous.

“It’s… uh, it’s a key to my place. Since you’re, ya know, here all the time.” Bucky’s smiling now, wider and wider the more Steve talks, and it gives him the confidence boost he needs to joke, “Plus you’re always bitching about me leaving the door unlocked.”

Bucky lets out a snort at that and pulls Steve into another crushing hug. “Thank you,” he says.

“Peggy’s got one too,” Steve says, “but still.”

“Wow, and I was just feeling special,” Bucky teases, throwing a surprised and giggling Steve over his shoulder and heading to the living room.

Steve’s not really sure what this means for their relationship or his feelings for Bucky. He’s affectionate with Peggy but not quite this much. Especially not if he was having an okay day. And he definitely doesn’t have feelings for her.

Bucky, on the other hand, is complicated. He gets butterflies when they tangle legs, when he wakes up in his arms, when they lace fingers. Sometimes Bucky will kiss the top of his head when they’re both half asleep watching TV (and he’s been spending the night at least twice a week lately).

At first Steve thought it was just some kind of hero worship thing. He changed his mind on that real quick when he realized he wasn’t exactly over the moon about having his life saved in the first place. Now he’s grateful for it, sure, because it brought Bucky to him and his life is much better with him in it. But definitely not hero worship grateful. Death would have probably been cool too.

“Hey, you okay?” Bucky asks, nudging him. He’s sitting next to where he flopped Steve down on the couch.

For a moment, Steve considers coming clean. He honestly, seriously considers asking Bucky what their relationship means to him and where he wants to take it. They can stay cuddly best friends for all he cares. He just wants to know where they stand. But he’s coward when it comes to his feelings and gorgeous, smart, funny, amazing nerdy guys so instead he smiles.

“Yeah, sorry, just thinking about work,” he lies.

 

 

*

 

Steve is having a Bad. Day.

He hasn’t really had one of these since Bucky started coming around, at least not one _this_ bad. He hasn’t been able to get out of bed or get dressed. What’s the point? He knows he won’t get anything done until this passes. Days like this he would normally stay here all day. He wouldn’t get a thing done or eat or answer a text and eventually Peggy would come check on him and make him crawl out of bed and take care of himself, do the bare minimum if nothing else.

When he hears Bucky open the door and call out for him he’s lying in his boxer briefs just staring at the ceiling. His heart is racing, chest tight, skirting the edge of an asthma attack. Or maybe it’s a panic attack. He should probably dig out his inhaler. Oh, Bucky was calling for him. He should probably answer, but he just can’t will his voice to work.

“Steve?!” Bucky sounds frantic now as he jogs into the room.

Steve knows he should look over at him, try and force a smile, say something, anything, but he just can’t. He just doesn’t have it in him to move or open his mouth. Doesn’t have the energy. He manages to wiggle his toes a little, but that’s all he got.

“There you are милый,” Bucky breathes.

Steve kind of hates it when he does that. Actually, that’s a lie. He absolutely loves when he starts mumbling in other languages, talking to him as if he understands, calling him names he hopes are nice but are probably just other versions of the ‘punk’ he usually gets in English (but that’s their thing so the thought of that gives him butterflies too).

Bucky sits on the bed next to Steve and pulls him up and into his lap. Steve lets himself get moved but just lies there against his chest once Bucky’s settled in, running his fingers up his back and through his hair. His breathing is kind of wheezy now and he definitely needs his inhaler but he can’t force himself to move or say the words so he just sits there while his chest gets tighter and tighter.

Bucky notices and is babbling to him now, every sentence another language. Occasionally he catches an “It’s okay” in English or “ _I’ve got you_ ” in French but mostly it’s one of the bagillion languages he knows that Steve doesn’t. It doesn’t matter, though. Just hearing his voice is helping his chest, his breath, his heart rate return to normal. He doesn’t feel any better emotionally but after a while he at least knows he won’t have a heart attack or something.

Bucky must feel him relax a little because he kisses the top of his head and says quietly, “You okay?”

Steve nods numbly and looks up at him, but, again, that’s all he can manage.

“I’ve got you,” Bucky says, looking down into his eyes. He gives a weak little smile and repeats, “I’ve got you,” before leaning down and pressing a quick, soft kiss to his lips like they’ve done this a million times before.

To Steve it feels like eternity, like slow motion. It feels like 1,000 volts straight to his heart and suddenly he’s alive again.

“Bucky,” is all he gets out before he surges up, pressing their lips together again.

When he pulls back they’re both smiling now and he’s turning bright pink.

“Been waitin’ for you to do that. Punk,” Bucky says and then they’re both laughing, Steve burying his face in his chest.

“Have you?” he asks equal parts playful and bashful, fiddling with Bucky’s shirt. He is suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that he’s in only his boxer briefs.

“What, like you couldn’t tell I was head over heels for you?” His hands are back on Steve’s back, tracing up his spine.

“I mean, I had hoped. But when you didn’t make a move… ya know?”

He snorts. “Nat has been calling you my boyfriend for weeks.”

“Oh my god, my friends too!” Steve giggles and looks up at him, his eyes hopeful. “So is that what we are now?” he asks.

“I mean, we _are_ sickeningly domestic, so I think that’s fair,” Bucky laughs, leaning down and kissing Steve again softly.

He pulls back too quickly and Steve decides he’s not done yet. He tangles his fingers in Bucky’s long hair and tugs him down to meet his lips again.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Hope you liked it! ^_^ Maybe I'll eventually write another fic in this universe cuz I love these guys lol As always kudos, comments, etc are so so so so so appreciated! And you can find me on [tumblr](http://worrisomeme.tumblr.com). <3 <3 <3


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